by Rachel Caine
Brennan shook his head. "Slim," he repeated. "I don't think that's the word I'd choose. Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."
"Yes," I said. "Do."
Luis, sensing the tension between the two of us--oh, and it was thick, for reasons even I did not completely understand--leaned forward, sipped his coffee, and said, "Okay, so, we need to make sure that the girls will be safe here with you while we're gone."
"And how do you propose I guarantee that, Mr. Rocha?" Brennan asked. "I can't guarantee anything to anyone, as of yesterday, and you should know that better than anyone."
Isabel was frowning now, and she looked at Luis with her arms folded. "I don't want to stay here," she said. "I can go with you."
"No, you can't, mija," he said. "Where we're going is very dangerous, and I want you here, where you can do the most good, okay? The Wardens need your strength. We won't be long, I promise."
Her frown stayed, but she didn't say anything more. Giving in so easily wasn't like Isabel, and I wondered what she was plotting under the cover of that silence. Nothing I'd like, almost certainly.
"She'll be just fine here," Brennan said. "I just can't give you any absolutes, of course, but we've got other young Wardens here as well. They're being very helpful. I suppose you know about Portland...?"
"Of course," I said.
"They came here to help defend Seattle after what happened there. Just arrived a few hours ago, but already they've been tremendously helpful. I'm sure your girl will do very well with them."
I felt a sudden surge of alarm, and looked over at my partner. He had put down his coffee cup and pressed both palms flat against the conference room table. "Warden kids," he said. "How many?"
"Four," Brennan replied. "Pretty damn gifted, too. They came with their guardian."
I held out no hope that it was Marion Bearheart, or another truly qualified Warden, but I forced a smile. "I see," I said. "That's very fortunate. Perhaps we could meet them so Isabel could get to know them...?"
Brennan shrugged. "Sure, I've got nothing better to do than to make you two feel comfortable." His sarcasm was thick enough to score steel. "Come on, I'll introduce you. Maybe you can all huddle up and sing 'Kumbaya.'"
"I'll go," I said to Luis and Isabel. "You stay here."
He understood, and nodded. "You be careful."
Brennan gave us an odd, impatient look, but shrugged and led the way out into the hallway to the bank of elevators. It was evident no one had been concerned with cleaning for a few days; the steel surfaces were smudged with fingerprints and--in one case--spattered with what looked like dried blood.
"Were these Warden offices?" I asked. They were generic enough to have housed anything from consultants to bankers, with neutral reproduction paintings and sturdy mock-antique desks. The receptionist's desk opposite the elevators was manned by a burly tattooed man with a shaved head who picked up the ringing phone and ordered whoever was on the line to hold before stabbing a thick finger at another flashing button. He didn't look like the clerical type.
"No, they were my cousin's," Brennan said. "Well, not his, but he ran the office for his company."
"And they don't mind you taking them over?"
"Their headquarters were in Portland," he said. "I don't think they're going to mind much anymore, at least for a while. My cousin sent everybody home and handed over the place. It was easier than commandeering a motel, and it's got better infrastructure, for as long as the phones and computers last."
He was right--they wouldn't work forever; as more of the world fell apart, those delicate systems would be among the first to shatter, isolating people more, giving rise to ever-increasing panic and paranoia. Humans clung to the illusion of normality, even in the face of evidence to the contrary, but communication was what fed the illusion; starved of that, they would begin to band together in protective small groups, and those affiliations would create discord, even where none existed.
Society didn't take long to break down, once the trappings of it were taken away. For now, it was merely smudges on the surface of an elevator, but once the electricity failed, once there were no more news announcers to urge calm and give some kind of perspective, however skewed, it would rapidly grow worse. We were days from anarchy, and Brennan knew that. I could see it in the tight lines around his mouth and eyes. He seemed sardonic and uninvolved, but that wasn't true.
We were all involved now.
The elevator dinged its pleasant, civilized chime, and the doors slid open, revealing a windowless, airless box framed in wood. It was as small as a coffin, and I hesitated, then took a step back. "Are there stairs?" I asked him.
"Problem, Warden?"
"Yes. I don't wish to leave my survival suspended on a mechanical cable and a whim," I said. "Stairs?"
He shrugged and led the way off to the side, where an EXIT sign glowed red. "They're fire doors," he said. "It'll be locked in the stairwell, no reentry. You're an Earth warden, so I don't expect you'll need any key card to finesse the locks around here. Just bang on the door if you get stuck."
The stairwell was clear and cold, and we walked down five floors before Brennan used his key card on a swipe pad at another door and clicked it open. "After you," he said, and held it for me. "Down the hall and on the left. We put them in the smaller conference room."
I opened the door he indicated, and found a room half the size of the one above us where Isabel and Luis waited. In it, two small forms lay still in sleeping bags in the corners, and three people sat at the table, talking. They immediately fell silent when we entered.
Two of those at the table were children, no older than nine years old--a boy and a girl, neither of whom registered strongly with me at the moment. No, I focused on the woman sitting in the middle.
The guardian.
She rose and bowed to me, graceful and unhurried. She was of Japanese descent, lovely and fragile, with the calm precision of one who'd been trained from birth to be beautiful, and she was, oh yes, she was. I didn't know her, but it didn't matter what the history of the flesh might be, because flesh was all it was.
The power that resonated out of her was utterly inhuman, and utterly unmistakable to someone who'd fought her to the death once before.
"Hello, sister," I said. Next to me, Brennan gave me a sharp look.
"My dear Cassiel," she said, and inclined her head as she folded her hands together.
The flesh didn't matter.
What was inside her, glowing and feverish with power and madness, was my sister. My enemy.
Pearl.
Chapter 6
THE SILENCE HELD BETWEEN US, deep and thick as polar ice, and neither of us moved. Brennan finally cleared his throat and entered the room; he was no fool, in that he took up a point out of the line of fire, and equidistant from us both. "So you two know each other."
"After a fashion," Pearl said. "Many years ago. But we have been... out of touch. Isn't that right?"
I didn't answer her. I was considering options, and none of them were good; Luis was getting stronger again as he rested, but it would take time for him to be up to full strength and, even then, taking on Pearl meant taking on her four child-followers. She wouldn't be here, in flesh, unless they were her best possible bodyguards, which meant they would be hideously strong and--no doubt--impossible to persuade of her real motivations. True believers were always the most dangerous, and children were more dangerous than most.
I finally said, "Yes, we've been out of touch. I confess, I preferred it that way, Pearl."
"Shinju," she said, and pressed a delicate hand to her chest. "My name is Shinju now."
"Still Pearl, just translated into a different language," I said. "Don't play games."
"I'm not. We have common foes, my sister. I'm here to help, with my children."
"They're not yours," I shot back. "They have families, and they were taken from them."
"These? No. These children came willingly. Their parents wanted them safe and protected
, trained and nurtured. And I have done this, as you have with Isabel." Her eyes were dark, and so was what dwelled in them. "This is Pamela. At the age of four, she was able to start fires with her mind, but she didn't understand what she was doing; there were accidents, tragedies. Her family gave her up so that she might learn how to protect herself and those around her." The girl looked up from the plate of unnaturally golden macaroni and cheese in front of her, and gave me a look that was eerily identical to Pearl's; there was no real feeling in it, only assessment.
Pearl put her hand on the other girl's shoulder now, and she straightened in evident pride. "Edie was medicated to stop her from tantrums," she said. "But she didn't need medication; she needed only reassurance and training in her craft. Weather, you see. Like Mr. Brennan. She can create a drop of water or a storm with equal ease. I'm sure you appreciate how valuable that skill can be to us now, in these dangerous times."
"The kids are amazingly powerful," Brennan said. "Let's face it--we need every hand at the wheel right now. It's not like we've got a snowball's chance in hell as it stands without them." He couldn't mean it, not entirely; there was something about Pearl--Shinju--that radiated darkness, and he had to feel that, no matter how desperate the need... didn't he? "The good thing is that they've committed to guarding our position here. As defenses go, they're about as good as we can possibly have."
"But they're not being sent to rescue your Wardens trapped in the tunnels," I said. "I find it curious that they're so powerful yet unable to do such a simple thing."
"You can't expect me to risk these children," Pearl said, raising her delicate eyebrows. "I must protect them at all costs, mustn't I? Isn't that what any responsible adult would do? What you would do?"
Protect. The hypocrisy of the word coming from her lips made me so angry that for a moment all I could see was the red sheer curtain of blood, and her face smiling through it; I felt power surging inside me, hungry for release. She was mocking me, mocking us all. Pearl had no interest in the welfare of her children; they were tools, to be honed, used, broken, and replaced. She'd treated Isabel no better, and she'd gladly take possession of her again just to use and break her again.
It occurred to me, with an unpleasant shock, that Pearl could have gone anywhere, shown up in any Warden encampment, and been welcomed with open arms... but she'd come here. To Seattle. She'd tracked me and anticipated where I would go.
She wanted Isabel back.
"No," I said aloud.
Her eyebrow slanted up in elegant mockery. "I should not protect them? Is that what you mean, sister? Shall I leave these poor children to the mercy of the world, to those who fear and hate them? Do you imagine their lives would be better? Their families were terrified of them. The human world had no answer for it. The Wardens turned their backs, saying they were too young. Only I could step in and keep them safe. How could I have done otherwise?"
The utter self-serving mockery turned my stomach. The children might believe it--I was certain they did believe that she cared for them; they'd hardly have that manic glow in their eyes, that love, if they thought otherwise. But Pearl had no love in her, no concern, no honor. It was all just flash and theater to her, the people in this world no more real to her than paper dolls.
"You've come for Isabel," I said. "You won't have her. Not again."
"Isabel? Isabel--oh, yes, I remember her. A cute little thing, but a bit underpowered for what I needed." Pearl shrugged. "I don't want her. Besides, sister, she has you now to care for her. Why would I wish to intrude on that loving relationship? Why, you're almost a mother to the poor thing." Her smile was as swift and cruel as a hawk's strike. She knew what it was like between the girl and me; she knew how complicated and difficult and dangerous it was for me to love a child of such power. To care, really care, in ways that Pearl herself did not.
And I hated her for knowing it.
Brennan cleared his throat. "Ladies," he said. "Problem?"
Before Pearl could offer up the platitudes that were surely ready, I said, "Yes. If you keep her here, you're accepting your own doom. She'll destroy you. You need to get her out of here, now."
Brennan thought I was joking, at least for a split second, but he must have quickly realized I was in deadly earnest. "What are you talking about? She's--"
"Not a Warden," I said. "Not in any way. The fact that she wields these children like weapons does not mean she is in any way sympathetic to your cause, or your challenges. She's radioactive, Mr. Brennan. Use her, and you may win a short-term victory, but a slow, long-term death. It's not even vaguely a possibility that she will allow any Warden on Earth to live once she has what she wants."
He didn't answer for a long moment. Shinju continued to smile faintly, untroubled, watching me with those unsettling, lovely eyes. Her hands remained gently on the shoulders of her two followers, who were likewise fixed on me with the intensity of hunting wolves.
"My sister is mistaken," she said. Shinju's voice was a weapon, too--full of music, gentle regret, false comfort. "I am heartbroken to be the cause of such strife, Mr. Brennan. You have given me shelter and safety here, and in return, I and the children have promised to protect this home you have offered us. We mean you no harm, I promise you. I am sorry for Cassiel's bitterness, and her rage, but I do not share it. What may I do to offer you reassurance?"
He had to know, I thought. He was no fool. He had instincts. He had to know she was a danger to us all. The feeling she radiated was like razor blades on my skin, absolutely and unbelievably menacing.
"Back off," Brennan said--not to her, but to me. "Shinju and the kids came here and contributed; that's all I ask. How about you, Cassiel? You going to pitch in? Or you going to start a war right here, with a bunch of children?"
He didn't see it. Couldn't, of course; Shinju was a perfect flesh disguise for Pearl. Her frail beauty roused protective instincts, especially in male humans; her courage and quiet power raised other instincts in them that made them wish to believe her, trust her, want her. She was clever, my sister.
And insane, in ways the humans could not possibly guess.
"Our mother is ill," she told me. "It is up to us to protect each other from her wrath until sanity comes again. That is the job of the Wardens, is it not? And anyone gifted with power and the will to use it."
"Don't," I said. "Don't think that I'll ever believe you, or fall for what you've promised these people. I know you, Pearl. I know what you want, and what you intend. And I will stop you."
"No matter the cost?" she asked, and put her arms around the two children. They leaned against her. It was a pretty, and damning, picture. "If you attack me, you attack them, Cassiel. You make war on children. How can you do that?"
"Stop hiding behind them, then." I was angry enough to gather power around me, and I felt it crackling inside me like a storm.
Pearl's eyes widened, and I saw the dark joy in her.
The child on her left extended his hand, and I saw the hissing power of lightning forming around it.
I lowered my chin and readied myself for a fight that would level the building.
"Enough!" Brennan said. He came to my side, grabbed my arm, and pulled me violently off balance. "Enough, all of you. If you can't play nice, you don't have to share the playground. Cassiel, come with me. Shinju--just do what you were doing. As far as I'm concerned, you're all on notice--no trouble here, or everybody goes. Clear?"
He had no power here, no power at all. Brennan's authority was entirely mistaken. If she wished, my sister could have blown him apart with a snap of her fingers... if she was ready to make that move.
Clearly, she wasn't. Not quite. Instead, Shinju bowed toward him. "Very clear, Mr. Brennan. I apologize for this awkwardness. My sister has always been--difficult."
I laughed wildly. "She's a killer," I said. "You're a fool. You're putting your trust in a wild animal, and she'll turn on you. Soon."
"You're not acting too damn house-trained yourself," he said, and
shoved me out into the hall as he banged the conference room door closed. "What the hell was that?"
"You have no idea," I said. "No idea what you're doing. What you're risking."
"You'd be real damn wrong about that," Brennan said grimly. "Follow me. Let me show you what we're risking."
The hallway opened into a large open workspace filled with desks. The smell of the place was sharp and familiar--sweat, desperation, old trash, humans who'd gone without rest or comfort for days. A few were asleep where they sat, with their heads down on their arms; a heavily pregnant woman was asleep on a black leather couch pushed against the far wall, near the bathrooms. It was a chaos of ripped paper, overflowing trash cans, and haphazardly placed shiny boards on which were scribbled all manner of things--calculations, crudely drawn maps, notes....
And on one wall was tacked a giant, oversized map of the United States. There were pins stuck in it, a confusion of colors.
Brennan led me over to it. "Yellow pins are for reports of earthquakes and other Earth events," he said. "You can see that they follow a lot of the natural faults and seams, but we've got a few brand-new ones that don't have any historical basis we can find. Red are wildfires; the larger the pin, the bigger the problem. We ran out of sizes, so we started just drawing the boundaries in marker for the biggest. Blue is weather-related events--tornadoes, storms, lightning, and the like. Black pins are Djinn incidents."